


Geminus

by Catoukin (Visionairz)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ARG!Wilbur, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Doppelganger, Editor Wilbur Soot, False Identity, Insane Wilbur Soot, Inspired by Music, Not Beta Read, POV Multiple, Trans Toby Smith | Tubbo, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Will add more characters in the future - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27495529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Visionairz/pseuds/Catoukin
Summary: Being the tournament master is the riskiest profession of all, especially for someone of Wilbur Soot's stature. Tall but not very strong with more brains than brawn. Being born into the role was probably one of the worst things that happened to him, especially since there was now a target on his back at all times.It really doesn't help to get kidnapped and replaced by a doppelgänger deadset on turning civilization into its own little game using Wilbur as the fuel.ORThe ARG!Wilbur/Editor Wilbur AU no one asked for
Relationships: ALL PLATONIC, Alexis | Quackity & Eret, Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Eret & Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 8
Kudos: 89





	1. One

Waking up in the middle of the night was a common occurrence for Wilbur. It wasn’t for any particular reason, it was just… normal. Fall asleep hours into the night, wake up a while later, then pass out just before sunrise only to be forced awake not too soon after he closed his eyes. But he really didn’t mind, not in the slightest. Those hours where he sat hunched over his desk, computer screen reflecting off his glasses and glaring at his tired eyes were his most productive.

No wonder coffee and energy drinks quickly became his best friends.

He had no time to focus on his own projects during the day. Between Tommy’s tournaments and training sessions, Techno’s exploration, and making sure they had food on the table every day, personal time wasn’t an option for Wilbur. Not that he cared too much about that. He’d do anything for his brothers to make sure they lived their best lives.

They all had ambitions but when Phil left one day… got Wilbur up in the middle of the night and explained what was going on… the curly-haired Brit made the decision to put his goals to the side to support his brothers. And he would do it over and over again at the drop of a dime.

Staring at the screen, Wilbur rested his cheek against his fist. Eyelids heavy, he could barely keep his focus on the tiny words. They faded in and out, letters merging together and becoming incoherent. When his head began to fall forward, he jolted upright, running his hand through his hair as he blinked away the bleariness.

His eyes were sore and his head was pounding. Like a jackhammer against his skull, making him groan and press his hand against his forehead. God knows how long he had been working on the piece, let alone how long he zoned out. With a deep breath, he sat back in the chair, pulling his feet up to wrap his arms around his legs. 

Reading over what he wrote, he sighed. Disappointment mixed with exhaustion and he closed his eyes. Pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wanted to pull out his guitar, try the words with the cords… but everyone was sleeping.

The one night he wanted to practice is the one night he had to be quiet.

Opening his eyes, he leaned forward and closed the laptop. Other than the slim strips of moonlight that filtered through the blinds, the room was swept into darkness. Wilbur sat there for a while, blind, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the low light. 

A glimpse of a piece of paper catches his attention. Curious, he picks the small note up, unfolding the lined paper. For a few moments, he squints at the scrawled writing, a small frown tugging at his lips. It was too difficult to read.

So, he got to his feet and grabbed his glasses. Slipping them on, he approached the window and held the note under the light. He had no recollection of writing anything down for the last few days--at least, not that he kept at his desk. But the all-too-familiar handwriting said otherwise. It was his own; something he wrote and probably forgot about.

_You work so hard at night, maybe you should stop straining your eyes. It ruins your pretty face. I’m sure neither of us want that._

Wilbur found himself unable to look away from the note. A look of horror covers his face as his hands shake ever so slightly. All sense of fatigue is gone, replaced by the need to run. Hide. Get away.

He crumpled the note and looked up. His heart raced, dread drowning out any previous thought he may have had. At some point, _it_ was there. It was in the same room as him watching him work. Wrote the note and set it by the laptop without Wilbur noticing. Because it wasn’t there when the Brit got up.

When he couldn’t spot anything out of the ordinary, he cautiously looked down at his fist. Uncurled his fingers, watched the paper unravel just a bit.

A creaking floorboard makes his head shoot up. Heart rate quickened at the snap of a finger and he watched, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. 

Footsteps.

He spun around, wide eyes glued on the door across the room. Obscured by shadows, form blurry in the blackness of the bedroom. A thin, dim light can barely be made out through the crack under the door. Paler than the moonlight, most likely a trick of the eye.

His eyes were trained on the light, only occasionally glancing up at the knob to see if anyone would open the door. Seconds tick by, feeling like neverending minutes trudging by as slow as possible. It was agonizing.

The handle turned with a click and Wilbur froze. Stared at the door, watched it swing open and watched a shrouded figure stride into the room. Their hand trailed behind on the knob, slipping off once the stranger was fully in the bedroom. The glint of moonlight from the cracked window blinds lands on the strangers face, reflecting from their eyes and highlighting the white teeth of their sly smile.

“Who the hell-”

Wilbur’s voice fell short the moment he made eye contact with the stranger. Locked into a staring contest, words refusing to come out. He went quiet, lips partially parted as a stillness came over him. Every muscle in his body seemed to lock up, the brit’s only movements the rise and fall of his chest and the natural sway of his body. He watched the stranger approach, breath catching in his throat and his fingers twitch… the only sign of him trying to move.

The stranger slowly advanced, grin only growing as their face became illuminated by the moonlight.

It took Wilbur a moment to process what he saw. A familiar face. Curly brown hair partially covered by a crimson beanie and keen hazelnut eyes were the first features he took in. And then the barely tanned skin and stature to perfectly match his own…

An exact carbon copy.

“Look at you,” the copy purred, leaning in close, its voice disorientating for Wilbur to hear. Set his nerves on edge and made him internally cringe. Like listening to a recording of himself… only he never said those words.

A cold hand pressed against the side of his face, the copy’s thumb caressing Wilbur's cheek as its breath hitched. It stayed like that for a moment. Unspeaking as it kept its hand in place, grin turning to a pleased smirk as its expression grew fond. “Up so late… you know that’s bad for you.” It lowered its hand, smooth fingers trailing along Wilbur’s jawline before eventually dropping entirely. It held its hand between them, palm open as the hand barely hovered over the man’s chest. Similar to a cold child to a fireplace.

He wanted to scream. Cry out and shove the copy away, force it to step back and stop touching him and ask what the hell was going on. But he couldn’t. No matter what he tried to do, his body wouldn’t listen. It wouldn’t move.

All Wilbur could do was stand there and take it, eyes trapped and mind entranced by the copy’s gleaming gaze.

It had to be a dream. None of this could possibly be real, doppelgangers exist, yeah, but not… not like _this_.

Or was he hallucinating?

“Come on Wilbur! Don’t tell me I have to teach you how to take care of yourself.” It reached up, twirling a strand of the brit’s greasy hair with a seemingly disappointed huff. “It’s a shame, really, finding you like this.” It shrugged, moving its hand to Wilbur’s chest where it now tapped along his sternum. “Not like you’ll get any better anyway,” the copy said, much to Wilbur’s horror.

It’s while they stand there in silence that the copy took hold of Wilbur’s glasses, pulling the round metal frames off his face. It studied them, turning the frames in its hands before holding it up to the slits of light.

Then it placed them on its face.

The copy blinked a couple of times, squinting as its vision adjusted to the lenses. Then, it tilted its head to the side, its open-mouth smile somehow appearing calmer than before.

“Thanks for the glasses.”

With one hard punch to the jaw, Wilbur crumpled to the floor.

\--

“Dude, Tubbo, come on!” Tommy shouted, turning around as he walked backward, slowing his rush. “Hurry up or they’re gonna catch us!”

A shorter boy ran after Tommy, hands scrambling to get a hold of the backpack straps to keep it from bouncing all over the place as his feet slammed against the dirt road. It was heavy, stuffed with books, a laptop, and two small notebooks (one of which the corner was peeking out from the zipper Tubbo was unable to close) and was a struggle to keep from completely falling off.

“I’m sorry! You’re the one who dumped this on me!”

Once by his friend’s side, Tubbo passed off the bag. The taller one gladly took it with a laugh, slipping it on over his shoulders and tugging the straps to tighten it around his thin frame. Then, teasingly, he remarked, “you’re my sidekick! Learn to deal with it!” 

Tubbo scoffed with a small chuckle as the two picked up the pace, relieved to have the weight of their haul off his shoulders.

As Tommy spun around to face the direction they were headed, he cast a quick glance back. No one was following them, not yet, but he could hear them. Shouting in the distance, inaudible as it was all muffled by the storefronts on the corner. They were a good 50 feet from the street corner before the first pursuer came into view.

Grabbing Tubbo by the sleeve, Tommy shouted, “RUN!”

And they took off.

Adrenaline pumped through their veins, pushing them to go faster than either has ever run before. With the advantage of long legs, Tommy found himself pulling ahead of his friend. It forced him to slow long enough to take Tubbo’s wrist and drag him along, much to the shorter boy’s protests.

“Get back here!” A man shouts. “You thieves! Come back here right now!”

Tommy cackled and continued to pull his friend behind him. Ducking into an alleyway, he didn’t stop, weaving through the many twists and turns that eventually led to an open street across the block.

It was far more lively. Younger children running around with a dirty ball tossing and kicking it across the street, older teens riding bikes along the center of the road, and so many others just walking around with bags of goods from grocery stores and clothing shops. An easy enough place to lose the men coming after them.

With a quick glance either way, Tommy darted across the street, Tubbo in tow. His target was yet another alleyway, this one a bit more shrouded by the hustle and bustle of pedestrians than the one they left. Straight into the dim lighting and around another corner, narrowly dodging large dumpsters and a stray cat that darted across their path.

After yet another turn, Tommy came to a stop next to a dumpster. Ducking down behind it, he motioned for Tubbo to join him as he took the bag off.

Both of them were breathing heavily. Tommy practically panting as he struggled to unzip the backpack and Tubbo keeled over, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Tubbo wheezed, lifting his head so he could look at the younger boy. “Why are you so fucking fast?!”

Tommy chuckled. He waited to respond until he finally got the zipper unstuck and practically ripped the bag open. “Because unlike you, I actually did well on the pacer test!” he proclaimed as he scrambled to catch the small notebook before it hit the trash-covered ground. He then grinned up at his friend. “I got a fucking _83_. Fucking _try me_ , bitch.”

The shorter boy giggled lightly as he kneeled down next to his friend. While Tommy was going through the notebook, Tubbo dug around the backpack to get ahold of the laptop. “You’re lucky I have a charger for this thing at home,” he remarked, flipping the lid open. “This thing’s probably barely charged knowing them.”

Tommy hummed in response as he thumbed through the pages. Each one was covered in scrawled writing. A mix of cursive and print, both messing and intricate at the same time in a way Tommy didn’t even know what possible. Granted, it was almost as ineligible as his own chicken scratch. 

Along with the writing was a bunch of diagrams hastily sketched out in ink and pencil alike. Extra pages were taped and stapled in here and there and some areas looked like pages had been ripped out. Jagged corners stuck out where papers were just shoved into the notebook and the cover was worn to the point of nearly falling off.

“This is so weird,” he said, turning a page. “Who has the time to write this much and draw all this shit? Like-” Tommy held the notebook up so Tubbo could see, pointing at a diagram of what looked like a tall, spindly, bipedal creature. Everything was scribbled in with the familiar texture of a scratchy ballpoint pen except for its eyes which were small, beady, and red. “Who?”

Tubbo glanced up from the bright screen to look at what he was being shown. His eyebrows rose in mild surprise at the site. “The hell is that thing?”

Turning the notebook back, Tommy read, “A… zexane.” He frowned. “Fucking weird.”

“A zexane,” Tubbo repeated, gaze trailing back to the laptop. “Interesting.”

“It says here that it lives in the forest and is only active during the night,” explained Tommy, squinting slightly at the intricate handwriting. “It can mimic the voice or sound of anything it can hear and its presence can usually be determined by a flock of crows in the forest.” He flipped the page again. “Who has the _time_?”

“Someone does,” Tubbo said absentmindedly, fingers tapping away on the keyboard. How the boy was able to do as much as he can was beyond Tommy. Oftentimes he would sit there and stare at Tubbo’s work, simply _awed_ but what he’s capable of.

Now was one of those times..

Tommy shuffled over, closing the notebook over his thumb to keep his place. His blue eyes settled on the bright screen as he watched Tubbo sift through the files. “What are we looking for again?” he asked. 

A couple moments passed before he got an answer.

“A digital version of what you’re holding right now.”

Tommy glanced down at the brown cover, gaze trailing over the weird symbol on the front. He traced his hand over it only to find that it was engraved into the leather. “Does it have anything to do with this?”

“Do with what?” Tubbo looked over as the taller boy held the book so he could see. “Oh… OH!”

His attention shifted to the computer. “I think I know what that’s called.” 

It doesn’t take long for a browser page full of similar symbols to take up the entire screen. Tubbo turned the laptop towards Tommy with an enthusiastic smile. “A unicursal hexagram! It’s really uncommon and really weird looking but once you know what it is, you can’t forget it.” He set the laptop down and took the notebook from Tommy. “You see the circle around it and the star in the center? That might mean it’s a symbol!”

Tommy swiped the book back and frowned slightly. He didn’t get a chance to comment on it before Tubbo continued.

The older boy pointed at the center of the star. “Look closer right there.”

Squinting, Tommy pulled the worn notebook closer to his face to get a better look at what Tubbo had shown him. At first, he saw nothing, just the weathered material of the cover. That is, until he tilted the book and watched some sort of shape flicker in the sparse light.

A number.

“Seven?” The boy questioned, now placing his finger over the number. Unlike the hexagram, there was no engraving, nothing to feel to show it was there. Tilting it back away from the light, Tommy couldn’t even make out any writing.

It wasn’t there.

Tubbo once again took the book back and flipped it open. He was practically buzzing at this point, excitement taking over his original plan of searching through the computer. 

“Tubbo what are you-”

“ _Shh_.”

The shorter boy thumbed through the pages, eyes flicking across the words faster than Tommy thought possible for the boy.

Then it clicked.

Tubbo wasn’t reading.

With the frantic page-turning and constant scouring, there was only one other thing that could possibly be going on because there was no way Tubbo was just looking at pictures. He was searching for something.

“Aha!” Tubbo exclaimed, slamming his hand on the book, pointing at something in the corner. He shoved it into Tommy’s face a bit too close for the younger to see. “There! Look!”

Carefully pushing the book away, Tommy examined the section Tubbo was pointing at. Weird, runic-like letters were scrawled on the side. Definitely not English. 

“The fuck?”

Tommy was pretty sure the other was vibrating now.

Tubbo tapped the notebook, forcing Tommy to stay focused on the words. “It’s Batari! Tommy, it’s _Batari_!” The only response he got was a blank expression that made Tubbo huff. Taking the book back, he started to explain. “It’s the written language of magic. It’s read the same as English but it’s _magic. Tommy, it’s MAGIC!_ ”

The boy flipped through a couple more pages until he came upon a loose piece of paper, folded into quarters. Setting the book down, Tubbo unraveled the paper. The moment his eyes landed on the writing, he seemed to glow with joy. “There’s so much of it!”

And so Tommy’s curiosity was piqued. “Can you read it?”

“Not well,” Tubbo admitted. “But… It’s not… it’s not a spell or anything like the one in the book.” He picked the notebook back up and passed it off to Tommy. “Open it to the page with the Batari.” Tommy obliged and Tubbo began to compare.

“It’s different,” he finally said. “Look at this.” He pointed at the spell and then at a sentence on the ripped paper. “The structure is different, so is the handwriting. Look- the spell? Words are connected and there’s extra letters to words and some are even removed. The note? It has regular grammar. Like someone was trying to write in code.”

Tommy’s eyes darted from the Batari to Tubbo. “What does it say? The stuff you can read? What is it?”

There was a moment of silence before Tubbo answered him. 

“It’s a diary entry.”

\--

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve _EVER_ heard!”

Quackity flinched at the shouting and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. This whole thing was so stupid. He didn’t want to be here, he never did! Yeah he ran for the seat of mayor but he didn’t _actually_ want to deal with the whole legal side of it all. But, alas, merging his votes with Schlatt came with… repercussions.

“It’s exactly what we need to do!” a deep, accented voice countered. “It’s what the people need, how the fuck is it dumb?”

A hand slammed on a table followed by the sound of a chair sliding on a hardwood floor. “I don’t care, Eret. You’re not the one in charge here, it's _not_ your decision.” Schlatt snarled. “This is my city, not yours. You simply work for me. And I say that is the worst thing I have ever heard.”

“But we need the land!” Eret exclaimed. Upon opening his eyes, Quackity came to find the tall man standing as well just across the table. “We need to be able to farm, we can’t farm without that land!”

“We import everything, we don’t need to start making our own fucking food.”

Eret pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. An attempt to calm down. “Schlatt, we don’t export anything. How are we supposed to sustain ourselves when all we have is the tournament?” They were the only one who could keep their cool around Schlatt. Something Quackity dearly wished he had. “Listen. Our economy is failing, we need to do something to boost it during the months we don’t have the tournament or soon enough we will fail and the tournament will be taken away. What will you do then?”

Schlatt glared at the tall man, stance unwavering. Though silent, he was still imposing, hard stare, something Quackity never wanted to be on the receiving end of. If looks could kill… Eret would be no better than dead.

The other took the silence as an answer.

“We’re nothing without the tournament right now,” Eret continued, gently placing his hands on the table. “We need to change that as soon as possible if we want to stay significant! Because who knows what happens if the next tournament master is born hundreds of miles away?! If we aren’t established as the _regional capital_ , we won’t matter anymore!” 

Schlatt scoffed in response, turning away from Eret for a moment. “God, Alister, you’re so fucking dumb.” The use of their real name made Eret freeze. Finally turning back to them, Schlatt continued. “We won’t have a new tournament master for _decades_. He’s not gonna die any time soon, you’re so fucking stupid.”

There was a flash of anger in Eret’s eyes joined by the barely noticeable flicker of a glow… a sign that their magic was just below the surface. Despite their clenched fists now pressed against the table, they kept a steady, diplomatic tone. “We don’t know that. Anything could-”

“Wilbur sits on his fucking ass in front of his computer whenever he’s not out with Techno, nothing bad is gonna happen to him anytime soon,” Schlatt snapped, easily cutting the other off.

“We don’t know that,” repeated Eret. “We don’t know each and every detail that could lead to something happening to Wilbur. He’s a target, Schlatt, you know that!”

Schlatt’s face twisted to one of confusion and disbelief. “Who the fuck would target the fucking tournament master?”

“Someone who’s mad at the results,” Eret delineated matter-of-factly. 

Quackity stood before Schlatt could say anything, placing his hand in front of the man as one would do to hold someone back. “You guys really need to shut up holy crap.” Schlatt swatted his hand away and Quackity shook it out, begrudgingly bringing it to his chest while mumbling a small “ow”. He then continued. “You’re acting like two old women fighting over if they should spend money on yarn or fabric in the middle of a fucking Joanne’s. Put your granny diapers on and sit back down oh my God.”

That earned him a swat on the back of the head from Schlatt.

“Hey!” he whined, rubbing the back of his head. “The fuck was that for? I’m not wrong! You’re literally two overgrown diabetes babies. You should really rest your legs before you fall down the stairs on the way out!”

Next thing he knew he was being grabbed by the ear and dragged away from the table. “Ow, ow, hey! C’mon man, I’m sorry let g- ow!” The shorter boy stumbled after Schlatt, tripping over his own feet as he was rendered off-balance. “Schlatt!”

Eret was giggling off to the side, finding far too much enjoyment in this.

“The only reason you’re here is because you legally have to be,” Schlatt snarled, pulling Quackity closer. “You’re supposed to sit there and be a witness, not act like some idiotic child who finds penis jokes funny.”

“Puta,” Quackity mumbled.

“Alexis.”

Quackity laughed nervously, eyes almost as wide as his nervous smile. “Haha, yeah! Yeah I get you big man! Mr. Mayor guy! Big ol’ Mr. Man!”

That seemed to be enough for Schlatt, the taller man letting Quackity go and immediately turning back to the table. Left Quackity standing there, pouting as he held the side of his face.

This was going to be a long evening.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't have had the motivation to write a second chapter if it wasn't for the lovely writing server I'm apart of! They've inspired me so much with this AU and I adore them with my entire being <3<3

Thump. 

Thump. 

Thump.

Tommy sat on the carpeted floor and faced the wall. He caught a small ball from where it bounced off the wall and tossed it, watching as it hit the surface and bounced right back. He did it over and over until he inevitably got bored.

Groaning, he let the ball bounce again and he lay back, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at the ceiling. “How much longer?”

“A couple more minutes, that’s all I need,” said Tubbo, followed by the repetitive clicking of a keyboard. They had been sitting there for an hour ever since they figured out that the notebook was magical in some way. Though, for some reason, Tubbo kept insisting that he couldn’t read what that one piece of paper said.

_ He said the thing was a diary entry so why the fuck won’t he read it? _ Tommy thought.

Tommy moaned, covering his face with his hands. “We’ve been doing this for ages, man, what do you  _ mean _ a couple more minutes?”

“It’s hard to know what I’m looking for when I don’t know what I’m looking for. There’s so much here, they know how to encrypt their stuff,” Tubbo answered, leaning closer to the computer screen. A small frown made his forehead crease. “I don’t… WAIT! I GOT IT!”

Immediately, the younger boy shot upright, spinning around so he could face his friend where he sat on the bed. “Holy shit! Really?”

“Yeah!” Tubbo was beaming as he frantically typed a bit more. Not even a couple of seconds later he turned the laptop to face Tommy all while patting the open space next to him. “Come look! I found it!”

Tommy scrambled to his feet and eagerly sat on the bed next to the shorter boy. He snatched the laptop from Tubbo, eyes darting across documents within the file. They were all labeled different things, some of them Tommy recognized from the notebook. “Oh my God… Oh my God Tubbo, this is it! This is perfect!”

He clicked one of the documents that were labeled “Basilisk” and watched as a PDF loaded up. As he scrolled through it, he came across all sorts of information about the monster including hand-drawn diagrams, strengths, weaknesses, and all sorts of biological info. It was crazy and Tommy was  _ beyond _ overjoyed.

“Holy shit,” the younger boy breathed.

"Isn't it great?" Tubbo asked, leaning over so he was peering over Tommy's shoulder. "It has everything the book had and  _ more _ !"

Closing out of the document, Tommy scrolled through the rest, barely managing to keep count of how many there were. Afancs, griffins, goblins, imps… there were dozens of monsters he had heard of before and even more that were completely new to him. Names that sounded like they came from some sort of random generator because they were so bizarre.

Like the zexane.

"We have a week until the tournament, right?" Tommy glanced at his friend who nodded. "And we can take stuff with us, just not electronics." Another nod. "Perfect."

Tommy handed the computer off to Tubbo and jumped to his feet. Spun around so he could face the shorter boy with a large grin and an almost mischievous glint to his eyes. "Then we gotta learn as much as possible. Shove that shit into our fucking brains and become GODS out in that tournament!"

Tubbo's excitement grew to match Tommy's, though he seemed a bit hesitant. "Isn't this cheating?" 

"Nahhh, we're not cheating!" Tommy assured, waving his hand to dismiss the question. "We're just turning into fucking plants and absorbing all the knowledge we possibly can. 'Cause, y'know, they really don't teach us about monsters in school. Like," he leaned towards Tubbo so he could turn the laptop, "what the fuck is a chimera?"

“Tommy, they don’t teach us because they’re not allowed to,” Tubbo corrected with a giggle. “Can you imagine what parents would think if they knew their children were learning about monsters and the tournament in class? They’d rip the board to shreds!”

The taller boy scoffed, straightening back up. “So what! It would be so cool if we could have at least some sort of extracurricular!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms out in the process. “It’s so cool! They don’t even teach us how to sword fight or anything in gym. Like, what’s the fucking point of having gym if we can’t fight!”

“Keep us in shape?”

“No!” Tommy pointed at his friend. “It’s to make us suffer and gain satisfaction by watching us struggle to run and play football. WHO EVEN CARES ABOUT SPORTS AROUND HERE?”

Tubbo laughed, doubling over to the point he had to wrap his arms around the laptop lid to keep himself from completely falling off the bed. Something about listening to Tommy’s weird proclamations just sends the kid off. Makes it hard to breathe from the short and dramatic hyperventilation. 

“It’s a serious question!” he cried, baffled by his friend’s incessant laughter. “Why the fuck do we learn sports and shit when we run the tournament!”

Pressing his hands against his eyes, Tubbo had to take a deep breath. “Because-” he wheezed. “Because that’s what we  _ do _ outside the tournament!” He wiped his eyes when he finally lifted his head, smiling like an idiot. “Tommy, you realize we literally have broken into the baseball field downtown, right?”

“Okay but-”

“And we stole from the hockey rink a couple months ago.”

“That’s not-”

“Oh and then the football stadium where we broke in and stole their food!”

Tommy darted forward and clamped his hand over the older boy’s mouth. “Shut! Shut it!  _ Shh _ .” When he was certain Tubbo was done because the boy had devolved to a fit of giggles, Tommy lowered his hand and pointed at him. “You’re a bitch-ass motherfucker, I swear to God!” Much to Tommy's dismay, the shorter boy, despite his inability to stay entirely calm, pouted. 

He quickly retracted his words. "Okay, well, no- no you're not that you're-" the true awkwardness of the situation began to set in for the boy. He stumbled over his words, his tongue becoming heavy and twisted and-

Tubbo couldn't hold the face anymore. He practically shrieked as he cackled, throwing himself back so he flopped on the bed. Tommy followed suit, awkwardness vanishing as it was replaced by his own laughter, the two boys making enough noise to cause the cat Tommy completely forgot was even there to scamper out of the room like Hell was on its heels.

It only made him laugh harder.

“Alright, alright,” Tubbo managed to say. “We need to go over the notebook, c’mon.” He sat up, closing the laptop so he could set it off to the side. Grabbing the notebook, he slid off the bed so he was sitting on the floor with the book in front of him.

He tilted the notebook around, trying to angle it as they had it earlier. He wanted to see the number again, just to make sure they weren’t just seeing things. It had to be magical, there was so much proof of it from the Batari… there’s no way it couldn’t be. But Tubbo was skeptical, especially with small seeds of doubt Tommy had sewn into his head as they made their way to Tubbo’s house.

_ But there’s nothing else it could be _ . Yeah, he had the random diary entry tucked into the cover of the notebook, but the other Batari he found had the same structure as what he now knows is called “Runic Batari”.

Thank God for the internet.

When the faint glow of the number caught his eye, Tubbo grinned. Immediately after he flipped it open, pulling the notebook into his lap so he could find the page with the spell. Once there, he lifted the book a bit closer to his page and began to recite the short incantation.

“Show me... the way… it? the rest of the... known?”

Nothing happened, so he gave it another shot. When it didn’t do anything and the book remained the same, Tubbo sighed. He glanced up and held the book out towards Tommy. “Wanna give it a shot?” The taller boy took it without question and frowned slightly, turning the notebook so he could see the Batari.

“What’s it say?” Tommy asked, gaze flickering to Tubbo. 

Tubbo replied, “show me the way it the rest of the known. It’s written all weird and it didn’t like my attempt at reading it.”

“Aright…” Tommy straightened out his posture, rolling his shoulders back as he redirected his attention to the spell. He’d never done anything with magic before, not even when it was a possibility in the past. It was never his sort of thing… but it was worth a shot. “Show me the way it the rest of the known.”

Once again nothing happened and Tommy shot an exasperated look at his friend. “Alright, are you sure that’s what it says?”

Tubbo blinked. “Yeah.”

Tommy lowered to book, expression remaining unchanged except for the way he raised his eyebrow. “Show me the way it the rest of the known? How the fuck is it it?”

The response from Tubbo was a simple frown as he got to his feet. Approaching the taller boy, he slipped the book from Tommy’s hand and read the Runic Batari yet again. “Show me the way it the rest of the known… that has to be it that’s the shorthand for it. That line?” He pointed to a line that resembled the top of a T. “That’s shorthand, that’s how Runic works. How the Hell is it it?”

The two stood there in silence, both of them staring at the notebook. Tubbo looked confused while Tommy appeared frustrated. It was exhausting for a multitude of reasons and neither reason was the same for either of the boys. 

There’s no way the shorthand was it, that’s impossible for the sentence, it doesn’t make  _ sense _ . Grammatically, that is. Tommy was certain of it, even if Tubbo was convinced it said “it”. After all, the younger boy was always better at language arts than Tubbo.

That’s when Tommy got an idea.

Swiping the book from Tubbo, he let his eyes scan over the foreign language. He ignored the way Tubbo watched him, brows furrowed in a slight frown, as he decided to give his idea shot.

With a deep breath, he said, “show me the way to the rest of the known.”

Instantly the words began to glow a faint yellow. Barely noticeable against the stained paper until the letters began to move. Lines shifted around and the symbols spread across the single page until just… vanishing.

Tommy could’ve sworn he saw them sink into the paper.

He didn’t get a chance to try and figure out what happened before Tubbo took the notebook back, his entire demeanor changing at the drop of a pen. Everything about him was bright and bubbly, the boy bouncing on his heels as he started to frantically flick through the pages. Searching.

A sharp gasp was what alerted Tommy the boy did, in fact, find something.

“Look! Tommy look! You did it, you got the spell to work, and look at this!” Tubbo shoved the notebook into Tommy’s face, making the tall boy flinch back from the sudden motion.

Grabbing the book, he lowered it so he could actually see what Tubbo was showing him. It took him a moment to figure out what it was since it appeared very similar to the rest of the pages. Scrawled handwriting in a mix of print and cursive in no clear order. Sporadic notes and small drawings depicting different features of a creature and a large diagram of a spindly creature scrawled in black pen. No space was completely filled on it, the cream of the paper poking through all over the drawing.

The outer edges of the pages were covered in more Runic Batari, all words and letters Tommy couldn’t decipher aside from the occasional “T”. 

“Wh-” he couldn’t even finish what he was trying to say before movement caught his eye. He narrowed his eyes slightly, lips remaining parted from his attempt to question Tubbo as he stared at the paper.

The diagram moved. Its fingers curled into a fist as its head tilted to the side, a faint yellow trail following the movement. Then its fingers splayed and its head returned to normal. A constant loop of movement Tommy was surprised he didn’t notice sooner.

It was very humanoid, the silhouette very similar to one of a man. The only difference was the glitch-like effect on its face made out of the same magical yellow, obscuring all of its features except for the narrow white eyes staring directly at him.

The top of the opposite page was labeled “Doppelganger”.

\--

The cold wood of the table against his forehead was far from comforting but it was the only thing keeping Quackity from going absolutely batshit about everything. That and the half-empty energy drink he had been sipping on for the past ten minutes. 

The evening was nice and cool, perfect weather for the jacket tucked around his small frame. The slight breeze made him happy. He remembered to grab a hat before going anywhere as he had nearly forgotten it when he changed out of his semi-formal attire from the meeting and honestly? He probably would’ve wept laying out in the dirt road if he didn’t grab it. 

He stared at the ground below him, one arm propped on the table as the other rested in his lap. There was nothing entertaining going on there. Just a line of ants slowly dispersing and going crazy. 

“Didn’t know you were one to drink coffee.” A deep voice cut into Quackity’s daze and his head shot up, eyes wide as his heart rate spiked. Standing on the opposite side of the table was Eret.

Immediately, he calmed down, a soft smile pulling at his lips as he sat back. Grabbing the energy drink, he took a sip before responding to his friend. "I'm clearly not. I just like to pretend I'm a cool preppy kid who dresses like it's always fall and drinks Starbucks and eats chocolate-filled croissants."

Eret laughed and took a seat. "Yeah, I felt that." The taller man took a sip from a disposable coffee cup, a small hum slipping past his lips. As he set it down, he said, "so how's it going with Schlatt?"

"Huh?" Quackity stared blankly, taken by surprise. 

"Schlatt," Eret repeated, swishing his drink around. "You're his right-hand man, right? That’s why you were at the meeting?”

“Yeah?”

“So then how’s it going?” Eret asked again. “With his plan, that is. How he relies on the tournament to be the sole income of the entire city, that whole debate?”

Quackity cackled, quickly realizing how dumb he was. Of course Eret was there to ask about that, not- “I thought you were asking if I was fucking dating him or something! Like what the fuck Eret?!” He took a wheezing breath, covering his eyes for a moment. “I fucking-  _ oh my GOD _ I’m so stupid, I’m literally so fucking stupid!”

Eret laughed right along with him.

The shorter man rubbed his face, trying to force himself to calm down. “I can’t believe I thought you thought I was trying to get with him or some shit, holy crap.” His cheeks were starting to hurt from the grin.

He took another deep breath.

Lowering his hand, he once again took the can and, this time downed what was left of the energy drink. Then, he finally answered. “He kept grumbling about it like some old man. Saying you didn’t know what you were talking about and shit, all that jazz.”

Eret sighed, a look that Quackity considered to possibly be defeat quickly overtaking his features. The taller man deflated a bit, shoulders slouching as he set the cup down. “Of course he did.”

“Why?” asked Quackity. “Like- why did you ask? Why do you care so much?”

The brunet eyed the shorter man as if pondering. He took a while to respond. 

“Because if he doesn’t take the time to consider my idea, we may genuinely lose the tournament and our status as the capital city.” That made Quackity’s eyes grow wide. “We rely on the tournament to bring us merchants and traders alike but we don’t actually make anything. We import everything and if we don’t take the time to grow our own food or teach our own craftsmen, who knows what could happen to us.”

Quackity glanced to the side, brown eyes hovering on the road for a moment before returning to Eret’s face. “Maybe he’s just stressed?”

Eret rolled his eyes. “Probably, but he needs to think about it now. What happens if the tournament master is born in a different city? We have Wilbur right now and we got lucky we were already a large city. Who knows what will happen if the next one is born halfway across the region?”

The shorter man shrugged.

Eret sighed, letting his face fall into his hands. He sat like that for a while before taking a deep breath and lifting his head. “Look, your job is to plan the festivities for the tournament, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“So that means you know what the tournament is about.”

“Yeah.”

“So then you must know how important it is to make sure it  _ stays here _ ,” Eret pressed, hard stare boring into Quackity. “Every time a new one is born, the current master gets a dream about it. They dream about the new one every night until they meet and it can turn to hell if the new one is nowhere near.

“If we put the money and effort into making the outskirts of the city based around agriculture and allow craftsmen to build their workshops here and take apprentices, then we increase the travel rates to the city. That means it could be easier to find the new master and  _ keep them here so the tournament stays _ .

“I need you to convince Schlatt of that.”

Quackity stared at the man for a moment.

Watched him sit back and take a drink of his coffee.

With a shrug, he said, “I’ll try, man, but I don’t know what I can do. He’s a stubborn bitch baby.”

Eret must’ve found the answer acceptable because he nodded and got to his feet. “Great, I’ll leave you to your need to feel preppy then. Thank you.” With a smile, the tall man turned and walked off.

\--

Tommy threw the front door open, bursting into the house with a jubilant energy no one else would ever be able to recreate. A large smile was plastered on his face and his eyes gleamed with exhilaration. Each step he took had a sort of bounce that one would see in an excited child and when he shouted into the warmly-lit entryway, you could tell he was practically  _ buzzing _ to share whatever was on his mind.

“Wilbur! Wilbur guess WHAT!” 

He slammed the door shut and rushed straight down the hall. Tennis-shoes thudded along the hardwood floor with his heavy steps and only came to a stop when he spotted the tall brunet standing in the kitchen.

The young man wore a blue long sleeve crewneck with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the white collar of the button-up he wore underneath poking out from beneath the shirt. With black jeans and a dark grey beanie to match, Wilbur was dressed in a rather nice, color-coordinated way. The only things set apart from the outfit were factors he couldn’t control such as his curly brown hair or the large, golden, wire-rimmed glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose.

It wasn’t a surprise to Tommy to see the adult dressed like that in a casual setting. In fact, it made the boy feel more at home, doubling his exuberance. 

Setting the wooden spoon he had been holding down on the counter, Wilbur turned around with a small smile, soft and welcoming. “What’s up?”

Tommy pulled the backpack he’d been carrying off his shoulders and discarded it on his chair at the table. As he unzipped it, he began to excitedly depict what he’d been dying to say. “So Tubbo and I are supposed to partake in the tournament this year, right? You know that, so it’s right. Which means we’ve been needing to prepare for it.” He shuffled through the contents of the bag, digging around for something. “But the school system fucking sucks and they don’t teach us what we actually need to know for the tournament. So!” Tommy pulled out a notebook with an “aha!” before grinning at Wilbur. “We broke into the library.

“We found so much crazy stuff that we didn’t even know existed as well as information about the monsters that we would be fighting!” Wilbur’s curious hum was what made Tommy hurry over to the taller as he flipped the notebook open.

The first page it opened to was about one of the monsters everyone already knew about. A simple creature people dealt with in a day to day life and had witnessed contestants easily overtake in battle: a griffin.

Pointing at the diagram, Tommy continued. “See! It shows us what they all look like and then it gives us information like its strengths and weaknesses and how to defeat it! And it’s all handwritten, which means someone had to do this by hand!” He slammed the book shut, sending a puff of air that made him blink a couple of times.

Wilbur let out an airy laugh. With a fond expression, he playfully pushed the younger boy’s head away before turning back to the stove. “You broke into the library for that?” He questioned, grabbing the spoon. “Isn’t that cheating?”

“Well,  _ yeah… _ ” he trailed off before immediately jumping to brush it off. “But that doesn’t matter! It’s not like no one else does that!”

The brunet stirred the pot of boiling water as he responded. “Uh-huh. What next, you’re gonna tell me you’re gonna bring the notebook into the arena?” Wilbur shot a grin at the boy. “Make Tubbo read to you as you try and fight monsters?”

Tommy whined, “nooo, no I’m not gonna do that!” He crossed his arms, lip turning downward in a dramatic pout. “I’m not that mean, he can’t even read that well, that would be horrible!” He paused, watching the man cook. “What’re you making anyways?”

“Hmm?” Wilbur glanced at Tommy who was now hovering to his side, peeking over the brunet’s shoulder, before shrugging. “Spaghetti.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Wilbur?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are the noodles?”

Wilbur blinked. Looked back and forth between the pot and his little brother, confusion etched into his features. It took him a moment to figure out what Tommy was asking and when it finally set in, Wilbur was immediately in motion. “Fuck, I forgot the noodles!”

He let the spoon go and darted off towards the pantry, leaving a cackling Tommy in his wake.

\--

Cold.

A pounding head and a struggle to breathe; a barely visible mist of breath slipping past blue lips and dissipating in the dark. Frigid temperatures hanging in the still air and the faint whistle of howling winds through the crack of a door.

A body lay curled in the corner. Arms wrapped around their chest and knees tucked close. Shivering as they lay exposed on a cold floor, eyes squeezed shut and the sleeves of their shirt held tight in shivering fists.

They were on the verge of consciousness, the sign of them coming to being the way their breathing picked up and their head swiveled. 

Chestnut eyes flutter open, dazed and milky from sleep and incertitude. They stay half-lidded, flitting around what little they could see as their vision slowly adjusted. 

To sit up, they place a trembling hand on the floor and pushed themselves upright. They shift around, scooting further into the corner so their back was to the wall. They hold their arms close, hands to their mouth so they could breathe hot air, a feeble attempt to warm.

The daze turned to an alert panic the moment they came to realize they didn’t recognize the room. A faint light emanated from a cracked door that led to another room, illuminating the one they were in. Revealed the wooden walls of a log cabin and the sparse furniture around the room.

A desk to their right, tall and ominous from their position on the floor, a chair in the opposite corner with a quilt draped across the back and a blanket folded on the arm… An empty fireplace with a cooking cauldron sitting off-kilter within the firebox.

They scrambled to their feet, typically fast movements slowed down by the iciness that gripped their core. Stumbled to the closed door, ignoring the one that led elsewhere. Wrapped their hands around the freezing handle and turned it, swinging the door open.

A gust of cold air snapped them fully awake and made them shiver even more. Their teeth chattered as they stuck their hands under their arms and the familiar wetness of a runny nose made itself known. All their natural reactions to the temperature. And maybe they would’ve done something about it if they weren’t frozen in place, eyes stuck on the scenery before them.

In front of them was a forest of tall, twisted coniferous trees. There was no rhyme or reason to the way they grew, the dense woods stretching on for farther than they could see. A thick sheet of snow covered the ground, a small sapling poking through hinting at the multiple inches that remained hidden beneath the top layer. A fog of sorts was settled between the trees, making the world hazy and only aiding the pine nettle canopy in blocking what little rays of sunlight there were. 

Though with a glance straight up past the roof of the house, they were able to make out the heavy grey clouds that blocked out the sky.

Their eyes dropped back to the forest. One of their hands moved to rest against the door frame.

Wilbur stared at the never-ending abyss between the trees, heart racing a mile a minute. His throat felt like it was going to stop working, a dull pain making it impossible for him to form words. And a nausea so strong thrummed under the surface, making him feel like he was going to wretch.

He collapsed, knees falling into the snow as his side rested against the doorframe. The wetness of the snow soaked through his jeans, freezing the skin beneath.

Tears pricked his eyes and unlike any other time in his life…

He was terrified and alone, trapped in a frozen forest.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dolos (n); The spirit of trickery and guile in Greek mythology
> 
> \--
> 
> kudos and comments are always appreciated! I cherish each and every one <3
> 
> my Tumblr is @argwilbursoot

**Author's Note:**

> Never trust a book by its cover.
> 
> \--
> 
> !!! you made it this far!  
> This is currently my passion project for NaNoWriMo, so let's see how far I get :)
> 
> kudos and comments and GREATLY appreciated!!  
> for more, my Tumblr is @argwilbursoot


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